


Death in Small Doses

by aussiebee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 13:29:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21476794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussiebee/pseuds/aussiebee
Summary: In yet another aftermath Derek takes care of Stiles and reminds him that hope is always worth the sacrifice.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 46
Kudos: 310





	Death in Small Doses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lalikitita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalikitita/gifts).

He’s exhausted, the kind of bone-deep fatigue that makes his hands tremble and his head feel light, almost like hunger but so much more wearying. Another near miss, so close to being a tragedy, and they’d all disappeared to their respective hideyholes to lick the wounds, metaphorical and otherwise.

Stiles was lucky to get away with a strained knee, the one already weakened by multiple dislocations, a couple of broken toes, and some kaleidoscopic bruising from under his left armpit, down his ribs, across his abdomen and all along his left hip and flank. The ribs twinge when he breathes and moves in a way that makes him think at least one may be fractured, but there’s nothing to be done for that, so he takes four ibuprofen on a cup of milk and shuffles his way upstairs to shower the mud, leaves, blood and whatever else is in his hair away, to try and clean away the stains on his soul that make him wonder if what they do here in Beacon Hills is worth it, if it even makes a difference.

He sighs as he manages to strip out of his shirt without too much pain, deliberately turning his thoughts from the evening’s events and wishing he could shrug off the melancholy settling over his shoulders like a lead-lined cloak. The house is quiet as he strips, his dad out with some of the guys he plays poker with once a month or so, and Stiles is grateful for that. There’s only so much of the disappointment in his father’s eyes he can take for a while, and he thinks he’s already exceeded that quota this month.

The water is cool and soothing when he steps in beneath it, hating the way blood becomes even more pungent when it’s washed away with hot water, and he ignores the goosebumps that rise along his arms as he turns and lets the spray pound down on the back of his neck. He thinks there are bruises there, too. His mint body wash, so mentholated it makes his eyes water if it gets anywhere near his face, is so good at washing away the charnel of their battle, of making Stiles feel almost clean. It makes his skin feel even colder, but he needs it, he thinks, the sense-memory of hot blood splashing across his face, throat and arms one he is still yet to get used to.

He leans against the tiles and sighs heavily, knowing he should get out but unable to muster up the will to do so when he feels draft swoop in over the top of the shower and the glass door is swinging open, Derek reaching in to turn the water off and bundle Stiles into a towel that feels warm and smells fresh like it’s just been pulled out of the dryer. He steps out and watches with clinical detachment as Derek carefully towels him dry, infinitely careful over his bruises and sore spots, gentle and thorough as he kneels down and encourages Stiles to lift his left foot and then the right, even cursorily pressing the towel to his groin before grabbing another towel off the sink and stepping close. Stiles drops his head to Derek’s chest, so very, infinitely, utterly tired and Derek just stands steady as he dries Stiles’ hair for him, gentle at the nape of his neck, scrubbing in a way at the back of his head that makes him shiver, a little tickly in behind his ears.

Then there are clothes: soft, comfortable sweats with the hems worn out at the heels, and a plain blue tee that has somehow started to get tight across the shoulders and around the biceps where it once hung loose and comfortable. Derek babies him into the clothes and Stiles is so pathetically grateful for the kindness and patience that he feels his eyes begin to sting and water up, and he knows Derek isn’t ignorant of the tear that splashes onto the back of his hands as he smooths the tee down Stiles belly, but he doesn’t say a word. He bundles up the wet and dirty things, then loads Stiles’ toothbrush with toothpaste, wets it just a little, then hands it to him and stays close, allowing Stiles to close his eyes and lean back against the comforting warmth of Derek’s body as he does a pretty shit job of cleaning his teeth.

Derek takes the toothbrush from him and rinses it, then shifts to allow him to use the basin to rinse and spit. He takes Stiles by the hand and leads him out of the bathroom, flicking off the light as they go. They head towards the end of the hall and Stiles’ room, but Stiles is distracted by the golden glow of the sunrise as it begins to cast light along the wall. He stands there and stares out at the flaming orange, gold, pink and red sky, the way the clouds look like they’re lit from within, and feels his heavy heart thump a little harder.

_ Is it worth it? _ he tries to ask Derek.  _ All this pain, and the way we win the little battles at such heavy cost? _

He knows he doesn’t say it out loud as surely as he knows Derek hears it as though he did. Derek’s reply is to press him carefully back against the door, bracing his weight on his left arm pressed to the door to keep pressure off Stiles’ bruised torso and he finally breaks, shoving his face into the crook of shoulder and neck as he slides his hand up and under Stiles’ shirt.

His hand comes to rest over Stiles’ heart and Stiles lets his head fall back to the door with a soft thump, the heat of Derek’s palm against his skin as hot as a brand. They stay like that for minutes, years, a lifetime, Derek breathing in Stiles’ scent as his entire body trembles like being there in exactly that moment, exactly that way with Stiles safe beneath him is all that is keeping him from spinning apart.

_ It’s worth it, _ Derek promises him silently, his lips gentle against the delicate skin of Stiles’ throat.  _ This makes it all worth it. _ It’s new, this thing they have, but the care they take with each other is not, has never been anything other than exactly how they do things.

Stiles brings his arms up to hold Derek close, his own body shaking to match as the sun rises on yet another day.

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely Lalikitita who, like so many of her fellow Chileans, show incredible courage and fortitude in the face of overwhelming odds. I had intended to write something fluffier and happier for you, but hopefully this little bit of escapism allows you a few moments of joy!
> 
> [Also inspired by this Tumblr post:](https://christinesficrecs.tumblr.com/post/174535048324)
> 
> Title, as always, from Neruda: _ Let's try and avoid death in small doses, reminding oneself that being alive requires an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing._


End file.
